No Way Back
by totally-absurd
Summary: He never knew how to hold onto something, as he never had things that he could call his own. As a result Haizaki Shogo lost the only person who ever held onto him. And it was his own damn fault.
1. Prologue

_This idea is based, again, on the prompt from the kurobasu anon meme, but this time I'm not sure I would be able to fill what OP requested, so this probably won't be a proper fill._

_The prompt was: "AU where Aomine is a cop and Haizaki and Kise are in a gang, Haizaki and Kise childhood friends please? (Haizaki has one sided feelings to Kise, but being Haizaki, is usually an ass anyways) Aomine catches them but Haizaki escapes leaving Kise behind, to his deep regret later due to AoKi happening"_

_I'm using the cop and criminals part and also the betrayal part, how exactly it will turn out, no idea._

_This story as AU, as far AU as I can get it to be and still leave everyone (except Haizaki) mostly in character. It will have violence, there will be bad language and suggestive themes. As for the smut, if it will work with the storyline it will be there._

_I would like to point out that Haizaki is not a bad character in this story. Everyone will have their side and storyline._

_Disclaimer: All characters and original ideas belong to their respective owners. The story is mine._

* * *

The first time Shogo saw him he burst into laughter so explosive that his eyes were wet with tears.

He was walking home from school, having been suspended yet again for fighting in the hallways and wondering why they wouldn't just kick him out already, when he heard a loud scuffle in the small alley ahead.

"It's mine! Give it back!" a high pitched voice yelled angrily earning a round of mocking laughter in response.

"Make me!" another voice taunted – rough, but with an annoying squeaky edge to it – prompting more catcalls, that indicated that the older guy was not alone.

Shogo rounded the corner…

…and promptly exploded with sniggers.

A kid most likely somewhere around six, judging by his appearance, held a fighting stance in front of three older boys. He stood tall in all his proud four feet, his head full of fluffy golden hair held haughtily, and his gaze radiated more venom than anyone his age should ever have.

He looked like a golden retriever puppy up against three grown attack dogs.

His tiny fists were held in front of him aggressively and his teeth were bared adding to the impression even more. His eyes immediately narrowed on Shogo, assessing the new threat as soon as he heard the noise.

The other three boys whirled around. "Who're you?" one of them demanded in a shrill tone, reminding Shogo of Hayano-san from his last foster home. She was always using the same screeching voice when calling him for another scolding. Shogo's amusement died immediately, giving a way to a displeased grimace.

"I'm someone who doesn't like assholes that pick on those weaker than them," he said, baring his teeth not unlike the puppy-boy.

He thought he heard a tiny growl from behind the idiots.

_Apparently someone didn't like to be called weak. God, the kid was hilarious. _

Three pairs of eyes drilled holes in his skull. The leader, the tallest of the gang, with the slicked back bleached blond hair, nodded to the other two to get rid of the intruder.

'_Well_,_'_ Shogo thought, smile stretching from ear to ear, _'bring it on, fuckers.'_

Five minutes later, three thugs were scampering away screaming obscenities and threats while Shogo smirked to himself in satisfaction. They were bigger than him, but they were dumb also and he never had any reservations about fighting dirty.

He picked up a small rectangular object that one of the idiots dropped to the ground, while trying to evade him, twirling it in his hand with curiosity.

"Give it back," the boy demanded at once, startling Shogo a little. He almost forgot about the kid, fighting consuming all of his brain. Maybe that was the reason why he did it so often.

"Or what?" he asked mockingly. He had no intention of holding onto whatever it was, but riling up this pup was just too much fun.

"If you think that just because I'm smaller than you I won't be able to kick your ass, you have another think coming," the brat said with an arrogant sneer.

Shogo couldn't help himself – it was too funny. He guffawed loudly, choking on his own spit and snorting.

An angry glare and folded arms were his only response.

He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to calm himself – he didn't want to argue with the little blond, since he was starting to like him actually, which in itself was very rare. Maybe he'll finally have a friend.

Then suddenly there was a searing pain in his knee, the tears that had yet to dry sprang again and the little shit was running away, clutching his possession that fell from Shogos hand as he doubled over.

"Fuck! You little fucker!" he cursed, clutching his knee protectively, trying to rub the pain away. But as soon as it subsided, amusement and a grudging respect came back and took its place.

Apparently that cute little puppy had a really sharp bite. And Shogo liked that in people. He should try to be friendlier the next time they meet, but then again, it was a big city, so this might be the last he saw of the fiery midget.

He hoped that would not be the case.

He also should have known that life has really cruel ways of granting your wishes.

* * *

Shogo's eyes stung with tears. Again.

To his credit, the dingy side street he was currently standing in was permeated with such an acrid aroma wafting from the nearby trashcans, that in part the tears could be partly attributed to its horrible fumes. But the other parts, the parts that also had him trembling, were rage and horror.

He came too late, or maybe just in time. It was entirely possible that a minute or two later might have cost the kid his life.

As it was, the image already looked vomit-inducing.

The boy lay on the ground, bloody and bruised. Some strands of his soft looking golden hair were painted dark crimson and what was visible of his skin was already starting to swell black and blue. He was curled into a tiny ball, hands clutching his stomach and knees drawn up protectively.

But the most terrifying thing was the silence.

Dead silence.

No whimpers, no cries; it looked like he wasn't even breathing.

At first Shogo thought he was unconscious, but when he stepped closer to the bundle of blood and dirt, it instantly curled into itself even more, as if expecting another blow.

Shogo growled. The bastards took off sprinting when they saw him, but he knew they were the same ones that were taunting this kid two weeks ago.

Cowards. Fucking cowards.

He knelt in front of the trembling boy.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, ok? I wanna help. Just let me look, ok?"

His voice was soft, like talking to a scared animal. He never heard himself speak like that, usually resorting to the loud, barking tone that made him more intimidating, even at thirteen.

The kid's eyes opened a little, but he stayed quiet. Shogo decided to try another way.

"What's your name?"

"Kise Ryouta," barely audible, but firm.

"Ok, Ryouta-chan, my name is Haizaki Shogo. Will you let me help?"

"D-don't call me that. I'm ten years old. I'm not little."

An involuntary and somewhat hysterical laugh tore out of Shogo's throat.

"All right, I won't, but you have to let me look at your wounds."

"Ok," the boy murmured, his voice slurring now, the previous steel gone. Goosebumps broke out all over Shogo's skin. Something was wrong.

Ryouta uncurled his hands and knees and rolled slowly onto his back.

Oh, something _was very wrong_. Shogo felt a bile rise in his throat. There was more blood, much more than there should have been from just a beating. The shirt was torn in the middle of his stomach and the dark red liquid was still oozing from that spot, a spot, where someone apparently stabbed him.

Shogo quickly pressed his now trembling hands to the boy's abdomen, bunching his shirt, fumbling, trying to stop the flow of the blood. But it was fruitless. His fingers stained with red and a small whine left Ryouta's chapped lips, as his eyes squeezed shut from apparent pain.

Panic was rapidly taking a hold of his insides, the tears he tried so hard to hold at bay were now flowing freely down his cheeks. The bruises he could deal with – he had received a lot of those himself over the years. He had never seen this kind of thing. He didn't even know how to stop the bleeding.

Fuck.

He shot to his feet.

"Don't move!"

Ryouta gave him confused look, his eyes already dulling.

"I'll be right back!"

Shogo flew onto the main street at the breakneck speed, latching, unseeing, onto someone's blue oxford shirt, bloody fingers twisting the pristine material and, for the first time in his short life, saying the words that he always deemed useless.

"Please, help!"

* * *

_I know, the dreadful cliffhanger. But we all know Ryouta won't die, or there wouldn't have been a story. So it's not that big of a suspense, right?_

_Please don't kill me._

_Valeria_


	2. Chapter 2

_Can you believe it? An update. Wow. And it was just two months. I won't promise to be faster next time, mostly because if I will, I'll most likely end up taking longer. So here's hoping =)_

_Important things. The story is now betaed by an amazing **Aruchyan**, she made this readable and suffered through my stubborn-as-a-mule personality, for which, I'm eternally grateful. Go check her out =)_

_For that reason, there are minor changes to the first chapter, nothing for the plot, so if you still remember it you can just continue reading._

* * *

Aomine Daiki considered himself a very lucky man.

A year ago, he got into one of the best universities in the country on a basketball scholarship, and just couple of days ago he was approached by the scouts from some famous recruiting agencies, which meant he would be able to continue doing what he loved doing the most even after he was finished with education. And would be getting paid for it too.

Let's see what his father will have to say to that in his 'basketball is not a reliable career choice' mantra.

The agent – that he, with advice from his coach, had decided on – had told him to look presentable for the first meeting with the executives. So after a bit of digging, he emerged from the closet of his childhood home with the only presentable things he had: black slacks and a boring blue button-down. The latter was a little worn at the cuffs, but, oh well, no one would notice anyway; besides the only jacket he had was from his school uniform – not something suitable for, what was for all intents and purposes, a job interview.

'_They should be thankful to get even that_,_'_ he mused. If his parents didn't still live nearby, he would have been wearing basketball shoes, jeans and a t-shirt, the only things besides basketball shorts he took with him to the dorm.

As it was, he really wished that had been the case.

The stupid shirt was restricting his movements. The whole getup made him feel like a kid trying on his father's clothes; trying to be someone he's really not. To be someone classy and sophisticated, not a guy who spent most of his school years on the public courts, playing street ball with the other local basketball junkies or in the gym with the school varsity team.

Well, he guessed it was a part of being an adult - pretending. Smiling without a feeling behind it, dressing in something he was not comfortable in, and associating with people he'd rather punch through the wall – all for the sake of the so called "decorum".

Whatever.

If he did not count his annoying attire, the day could be called perfect in every way. The weather was warm, but not unbearably so, and the sun was shining brightly with no hint of rain on the horizon. He was going to get one step closer to his dream and, well, the appreciative glances that passing women of all ages were giving him did make wearing this monkey suit a little bit worth it.

Yes, his life was quite perfect.

That is up until the moment something propelled right into his chest.

"_Please, help!"_

* * *

Daiki was staring wide-eyed at the kid, whose hands were smearing something red on his last and only presentable shirt. 'Blood,' his mind supplied somewhat absently, as the little bits of his attacker appearance registered there without his conscious thought.

He was probably somewhere around twelve, voice already breaking a little and first minor growth spurt making him look gangly and too thin. His school uniform was wrinkled and mussed, sitting askew on his frame, and his powder gray hair was sticking in every direction, refusing to frame his frantic face, stained with tears and more blood.

Trembling from head to toe, the boy had Daiki's shirt in a vice-like grip, babbling something incoherent and tugging him into the small alley to the right.

Later his mother would say, that someone more sensible would have at least thought there might be something suspicious, and called the police at most. But as his mother also said, sensible and Daiki had a very difficult relationship, and most of the time gut instinct was the what he operated on.

He stepped into the alley and sent a prayer to every deity he knew for the view in front of him to be anything but reality.

First thing he noticed was the smell – disgusting mix of rotten fish and stale piss. It hit him in the face so hard, he started wondering how he did not notice it outside the alley. It was dirty of course, though thankfully dry, as much as it could be in a place where sun can't break in even on the fair weathered days like today.

There was also another boy.

He was almost like a part of the scenery – a dirty mess on the dirty ground. The only bright spots were the patches of his dull blond hair among the dark splashes littering it.

And streaks of blood on his bruised hands.

It was a scene from a nightmare. Daiki felt his insides turn into ice cubes, falling heavily to the pit of his stomach and sending burning chills up his spine. The other kid was still tugging on his sleeve, but it was like his feet had taken roots to the ground, unmovable and laden with lead.

He would not call himself sheltered, not really. One could never be sheltered with as much time as he spent out of the house. But there was a big difference between some bruises and bloody noses he earned in a few scuffles, his attitude gotten him into during high school, and someone being beaten half to death.

It was a terrifying and morbidly fascinating sight.

"Please, sir! You have to help! He's bleeding!" A desperate cry echoed in his head pulling him out of trance and propelling him forward, only to fall to his knees beside the battered body and gasp.

His lucky day just went to hell.

* * *

If someone asked Daiki what happened next, he probably would not be able to tell them, his mind locking those dreadful memories somewhere out of reach.

His shirt was torn to wound up around the blond kid torso and leaving only a wife beater to protect himself from the sudden attack of chill. His cell phone had blood smears all over the keyboard and back lid, and his breakfast became a lump lodged in his throat, that refused to go down with any amount of swallowing.

The plastic chairs of the hospital waiting room were too small for him and thus awfully uncomfortable, but he could not bring himself to stand up, just like he could not bring himself to go to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands, instead rubbing it further into the digits on the phone, thinking absently that he would probably have to replace this one.

The kid beside him was apparently still in shock – quiet and still as statue.

Daiki was thankful for that.

The silence might have been deafening, but if the boy were to go back to the hysterical state he had been in just an hour before, Daiki would not know what to do.

He was never good with kids. He was not good with tears. He also had no idea what it was like seeing someone close to you lying on the ground in a pool of their own blood.

He still didn't know how exactly that happened. The police officer came and dutifully asked his questions, though Daiki couldn't tell him anything. He didn't even know the name of the boy whose life he tried to save, and, as it turned out, the ashen haired kid, whose name he learned was Haizaki Shogo, didn't know that much ether.

The assaulted boy's name was Kise Ryouta, he was ten years old – that was all the information Haizaki Shogo could provide. They'd met once before, when Ryouta was being bullied by some older kids and today, when Haizaki turned into the alley to make a short cut he often used to get home, he saw the same bullies running away from Ryouta's battered body.

He did not know anything else, but what made Daiki's blood boil was that the officer – Oichi something or other – didn't even try to look like he cared. If Daiki was in the right state of mind, he would have broken his face for asking the middle school kid all those questions so casually, with a bored expression more suitable for ordering dinner than dealing with a child who went through such a traumatic event.

The officer left claiming he needed to run the information through the database to find Ryouta's parents and get the investigation running. Daiki gave the internal eye roll at the last one, doubting that the indifferent bastard would move his ass an inch more than necessary in order to find the culprits. As if voicing his skeptical thoughts, a derisive snort sounded to his right.

Daiki shot Haizaki a questioning gaze.

"Like anyone cares about orphans and their problems. He won't raise a finger to find those bastards."

Daiki could not argue the second part of the statement, but the first made him frown. Stifling his inner adult insistent on reprimanding the kid for his foul language, he looked at him doubtfully.

"You said you don't know anything about him."

"I don't know _for sure_. But I know what someone who has no one waiting for him at home looks like."

Daiki was taken aback. The boy was thirteen, wasn't he? There was something terribly wrong with the world when thirteen-year-olds started talking and thinking like jaded adults.

"You also said you've only seen him twice."

"Yeah, and both times in that dingy alley, just two blocks from the Akita orphanage. "'Cause that's the most popular hangout place for ten-year-olds, right?"

"Maybe he just lives nearby."

Haizaki looked at him for a few seconds, as if suddenly finding something that was not supposed to be there, and then shrugged.

"Maybe."

What was with this kid and his mature attitude?

Unfortunately, Daiki did not have time to ponder on that because the doors to the ER choose that moment to bang open, letting out a weary looking man in blue scrubs. He held black rimmed rectangular glasses in one hand and was rubbing his bloodshot eyes with the other. He looked like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders.

Daiki felt his breakfast inch back up his throat.

Why the fuck did he care so much? He didn't even know the kid, dammit.

"Sensei?"

The doctor perched his spectacles back on his nose and squinted at him.

"Are you a relative?"

"No. I brought in Kise Ryouta. The boy with the stomach..."

"Ahh, yes. Abdominal puncture wound. Yes. He's quite lucky. It was not deep and no organs were punctured. Even the broken rib hasn't done any major damage. He is sleeping now and will be moved shortly to the general recovery. You can visit then."

Daiki let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in, hearing a twin sound escape Haizaki.

He made to stand up, but stumbled over the doctor's stern gaze.

"I suggest you wash up first," he said looking pointedly at his rust-colored hands. "Both of you," he added directing his eyes to Shogo, who now that Daiki turned to really look at him, looked like he was a part of the fight himself, blood and tears drying on his face, eyes swollen and red, and all clothes dirty and askew. Hell, Daiki himself probably was no better if the look doctor gave him was anything to go by.

He nodded to the man.

"Ok, kid," he sighed, earning a scathing glare in return for the nickname.

'_Teenagers,' _he thought, forgetting that he was not that far ahead, being nineteen_. _

'_Whatever_._'_

"Let's go to the bathroom and then we can..."

The sentence was interrupted by the shrill sound as his phone suddenly lit up and started vibrating in his hand, displaying the words 'Satsuki Momoi'.

The agent.

_Shit_.

He pushed the green button.

"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

Daiki winced.

Fuck.

That was painful. His ear drums were probably torn apart.

"Hospital."

She didn't listen.

"Can you imagine what I had to do to explain your absence?! Do you even... wait what?!"

Oh, looks like she did listen, it was just a long way from ears to the brain.

"I'm at the hospital. Well, emergency room. It's n-"

"Oh, my god! Are you injured? Seriously? What hospital? I'll be right there. What happened? Did you get in an accident? Did you..."

"God, would you fucking slow down? It wasn't me. There was this kid that got beaten and cut and I needed to get him help..."

There was a sob on the other end of the line.

_What the hell?_

"D-dai-chan, you are so ni-ice."

_Oh, fuck no_. Crying women were worse than a natural disaster. He'd rather deal with a tsunami than try to comfort one.

And what the hell with the 'Dai-chan'? She was not that much older than him to be so informal. Well, ok, Aomine would be the first to admit that he was not one for formalities, but 'Dai-chan'?! What was he, five?

Daiki frowned, trying to listen to the incoherent babbling in his ear.

She was still on the topic of his heroics.

"Hey, look… Mo-, Satsuki."

Hell, if she could call him Dai-chan, he can discard the honorifics.

"I'm fine. The kid's fine. But we'll have to postpone the meeting for another day. Can we do that?"

"Of course we can! I will explain everything to the director; don't you worry. Are you going to be at the hospital? What hospital? I'll pick you up."

He really did not want to deal with hysterical women right now, but since his career depended on that hysterical woman, he supposed he should play nice.

"Yeah, I'll be here at last until he wakes up," he answered reluctantly and told her the name of the hospital and where to find him, finally ending the conversation.

"Ok, then… What?!" He snapped at the Shogo kid who was now looking at him with amusement and both eyebrows raised.

"Girlfriend?"

Aomine granted.

"_Thank fuck no_. Job."

_Oh, shit._

He whirled around expecting to find the doctor looking reprovingly at him for cursing in front of the child.

"Don't worry. He's not here," Haizaki informed him, still amused. "And I've heard worse."

Daiki snorted.

"Smartass. Let's go to the fucking bathroom before this shit became permanent."

* * *

_Not terribly long, I know. But that's it for now, for Aomine. So this chapter ends here._

_Please let me know what you think, reviews are always inspiring._

_Thank you for reading._

_Valeria_


End file.
